


Just... Complicated

by andersdiva



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-15 03:10:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2213571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andersdiva/pseuds/andersdiva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Blaine gets a job at a new school, the last thing he wants is to fall in love with the wrong person, but that's what happens. And suddenly everything gets extremely complicated because sometimes forbidden love just cannot be avoided. [Teacher!Blaine - Student!Kurt AU]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Just... Complicated](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/70209) by lievebrezza. 



> This story is a Teacher!Blaine – Student!Kurt AU originally written in Italian by lievebrezza. I loved it and when I like something I absolutely have to tell everyone about it, and that’s when I realized that great part of my friends couldn’t read it because there wasn’t an English version of the story. So I decided to make one myself and I started translating it one chapter at a time.
> 
> Big (huge) thank you’s to Chiara (chriscolfah on tumblr), my first reader and the person who let me know this story even existed, and to Laura (mothastruckas) who magically transformed my translation into real English, while giving me a lesson on English creative writing, too. Thank you.

_Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?_

**\- Christopher Marlowe**

 

Blaine looked himself over in his living room's mirror, lightly fixing his tie with a discontented sigh. He almost went back to his bedroom to change his clothes again, but the clock thankfully warned him that another change of outfit would have definitely made him late. Sighing again, now only slightly exasperated, he picked up his bag from the floor and left his tiny apartment: all in all, it wasn't important what clothes he was wearing or if the color of his tie matched with his socks. Or at least it wasn't as important as arriving on time.

Being late on his first day of school would be unacceptable, so he sprinted to his car and drove to McKinley, savoring the mid-September breeze reaching him through the down-turned window.

A fresh start was exactly what he needed - a small bite of freedom and independence - he didn't ask for anything else, really, after all that time spent studying. Maybe at McKinley he wouldn't be as appreciated as he thought he deserved, but that was only the start anyway.

He got out of his car and looked around: everything was as he had pictured in his head. It didn't look like Dalton at all, where the pupils walked orderly in the hallways leading from the dorms to the classrooms. Here, a stream of students crawled among the cars, kids were shouting as they ran after each other and others shared warm hugs after the whole summer spent apart. Even the colors were different: at Dalton everything was blue and red, while here everyone could wear whatever they wanted.

Blaine was suddenly struck by how long it had been since he had entered a school without wearing a uniform. He checked his clothes once again in his car's rear view mirror, then he fixed a rebellious curl behind his ear. His hair,  _that_ , that would never change. But why exactly was he worried about his clothes? Nobody would give a damn about his pants, or his shirt for what matters.

He took a deep, encouraging breath, clenching his bag's strap as if it were his lifeline and closed his car's door. He dived into the colorful crowd moving towards the school's main entrance.

In the hall, he looked around in confusion not remembering where the secretary's office was. He had been there only a week before but he had evidently forgotten any useful information to help him locate it now.

“Mmm...” he mumbled under his breath, as he pretended to read the papers pinned to the board on the wall, trying to remember the way to the office.

He surely couldn't ask one of the kids passing next to him; he already was new there and to be pegged as new  _and_  dumb wouldn't be the best option for sure. He glanced to his right and saw the secretary struggling to make her way through the crowd of students; he let out a relieved breath and ran after her, following her path to the room just before Figgins' office.

“Anderson! You scared me coming up to me like that. Did you use to do this to your poor secretaries at Dalton, too?” she said, as she took off her jacket and turned on the computer on her desk.

“I'm sorry, my enthusiasm got the best of me. Have you everything ready? I should be in my classroom in...” he glanced at his watch, a rather new gift by his father, “Well... Five minutes ago.”

She giggled, reminding him that the first day of school was a slow one for everyone so he should feel free to do the same, nobody would judge him badly for being a few minutes late. She handed him a couple books and a small stack of paper, wishing him good luck.

“You'll need it. This hell is nothing like Dalton.”

He swallowed audibly. Blaine smiled tightly at the secretary, after all she only meant well, and left the room. The hallway was almost empty by now, apart from a few students who were late to class (as he was). He walked slowly, trying to put off as long as possible the moment he would have to go into his classroom. He ran his fingers distractedly over the lockers and read some of the flyers pinned to the walls. After one last glance at the trophies on the shelves, he held his small load of paper and books to his chest. It was time to get in. Everything would go well.

When he opened the door the inside was hell: three girls were smoking with their heads out of the window, a boy was lying on the floor held down by two peers sitting on top of him, spit soiled paper balls were flying in the air and most students were shouting, each one of them trying to overpower the already deafening noise in the room.

Blaine loudly shut the door behind himself, causing about fifteen heads to turn in shock and stare at him. This only lasted about five seconds, just enough time to study the new kid, before everyone got back to what they were doing before.

What they weren't expecting was Blaine walking to the teacher's desk, instead of sitting at one of the few free desks among those already occupied by the students. They also weren't expecting Blaine's reaction when they all carried on being extremely loud, even though he had cleared his throat more than once, trying to catch their attention. After his third useless attempt, he took a sharp new piece of chalk and scratched it on the blackboard, crossing it from side to side and generating a noise so piercing that one girl let her cigarette fall on her jeans in the haste to cover her hears with her hands.

He only added a dazzling smile. When everyone went to their own seats, he turned and began writing his name on that same blackboard he had used as torture method.

“Blaine Anderson,” he read out loud, then he turned his attention to the class in front of him, “Obviously, you can call me Mr. Anderson. This year I will be your AP English and American Literature teacher. My secret hope is that you all chose this course because of your great passion for this subject, but I know that is not why. I’m sure that some of you are here because you think that this course will be easier than Calculus or Chemistry, but that - I'm sorry to break it to you - that is not true at all.”

The only reply he got from his students were mournful whispers.

“If you're not going to take this course seriously, you have one week to change your attitude or move to more pleasant places. Now... It's time to introduce each other, isn't it? Then we'll move on to the fun stuff.”

Some tried to become an inanimate unit with their desks, leaning face down over them; others grumbled that maybe it would be better if they just switched to some other course. While he called out the names on the list the secretary had given him, Blaine tried very hard to link the names with the faces of the students in front of him. “Hudson?”

An extremely tall boy held up his hand from the last row of desks. His disoriented face didn't promise any good, but Blaine reminded himself not to judge a book by its cover and just smiled, going on with his list of names.

“Hummel?” Nobody in particular answered, however the whole class started snickering.

“Kurt. Kurt Hummel?” He repeated a bit annoyed, still getting no response. The same boy who had just answered the moment before raised his hand again, waving it from side to side to be noticed by his teacher, as if it were necessary with his definitely remarkable height.

“Yes, Hudson?” He asked, his eyebrow arched.

“Er... Kurt is my brother, we drove to school together this morning, I don't know why he isn't here now,” he replied confusedly, as if not even he were sure of the words coming out of his mouth at the moment.

“Your brother? Hudson and Hummel are two different last names... Are you trying to make fun of someone here?”

The boy shook his head emphatically.

“We're step-brothers, sir.”

“Well. That explains the different last names. Now, I gather that Mr. Hummel found something more interesting to do than show up to class,” he wrote down something on his register, then went on calling the other students, not giving Finn the chance to add anything else.

Blaine had thought about it for a long time, about what approach would be best to adopt with his students. He was in his early twenties, it would have been so easy to start off a friendly teacher-student relationship with his class. He dreamt of amicable pats on the back and pizza slices shared on the school steps, but then he thought better of it; the kids would have eaten him alive if he gave them the impression of being so naïve. He was too young to even think of trying something like that, so he opted for a slightly stricter route.

He told his students to take out their copies of Dubliners, then he stood up and started his lesson. He walked between the desks to make sure that everyone was listening to him or taking notes without getting distracted. He confiscated some cellphones and a hilarious little note with his caricature. In the drawing he blew fire out of his nostrils.

Unbelievably, when class was over the students left the room tidily, each of them taking their copy of the week's homework that Blaine had neatly stacked on his desk's corner. In the meantime, Blaine was taking small notes on his agenda, while trying to remember what part of the building held the teachers' toilets. The last one in line was Finn, who stood in front of Blaine's down-turned head, nervously creasing the homework paper in his hands.

“Mr. Anderson?” he asked timidly. Blaine looked up from his agenda and waited for Finn to elaborate.

“Please, don't give Kurt a demerit. There has to be a reason why he didn't come to class... I'm sure there's an explanation. It's not like him to skip class,” he mumbled embarrassed.

“If tomorrow he'll deign us of his presence, I'm sure he'll have the chance to explain himself. Now go or you'll be late for your next class,” he replied, going back to his notes. As soon as Finn finally left the room, Blaine jumped up from his seat. Where the hell were the teachers' toilets? Be damned his bad memory and his passion for extra-large coffee cups!

As the bell rang, he left his classroom and checked the hallway. All the students were at class so he wouldn't draw any unwanted attention wandering the school with his legs squeezed together. He ended up in a part of the building with no classrooms and only a few unused laboratories. He was going to turn around and go back, when he saw the door to the boys’ toilets. At that point he decided not to think too much about it, to be found in a puddle would be so much worse than using the boys' toilets instead of the teachers' ones.

Blaine sneaked into the deserted toilet and he was about to enter one of the cubicles when he heard a sob coming from the last toilet at the far end of the room. Blaine sent a dejected look to the wall in front of him before exiting the cubicle and finding himself again in the main part of the room.

“Hey?” he asked unsure, walking towards the source of those sobs. He found a boy sitting on the floor with his knees drawn up to his chest, his face hidden behind his arms. He was evidently crying, if only because of the constant tremors going through his body. Blaine approached him and crouched down, a strong scent of mint took him by surprise.

“What's wrong?” he asked, laying his hand on the boy's shoulder. Only then he noticed that his t-shirt was soaked in a freezing green liquid and that good part of the tremors were actually cold shivers.

“You're freezing!”

The boy mumbled something, but his face was still completely hidden by his arms so it was quite hard to understand his words.

“I'm sorry but if you stay like that it won't be possible for me to understand what's wrong.”

Then the boy looked up. Blaine did not see the marks on the boy's forehead left there by the pressure of his skin against his watch, nor did he see the redness caused by his crying. He only saw bright blue eyes, which were now looking at him with uncertainty.

“I said that it's only natural to be freezing, if they empty three extra-large slushies onto your head,” he whispered with a hint of a wry smile. Blaine tucked his hand in his blazers pocket and handed his handkerchief to the boy. He said nothing and used the handkerchief to dab at his eyes.

“Shouldn't you get up and change into new clothes? Maybe you could also tell me what happened and who gave you this unwelcome shower.” Blaine got up and reached out to him. From the floor, the boy stared at him intensely for a moment, then he clenched the hand containing the handkerchief and stretched out the other one to let himself be helped to his feet.

He was taller than Blaine.

“There's no need to be this kind,” his voice was still a bit broken by his tears as he grabbed his bag that was previously left against the wall.

“Let's say that I'm doing what has to be done. Now, do you have a change of clothes with you or do I have to go get you something from your locker?”

The other looked at him with surprise.

“Are you new? I've never seen you before. You must be a senior, right? Who knows, maybe we even have some classes together... For your own good, you should go before someone sees you with me. I could ruin your reputation even before you actually build yourself one.”

He unzipped his thin sweatshirt and took it off, laying it on the sink next to them. Blaine was going to reply when the boy started talking again.

“Damn, they got my t-shirt wet, too,” he uttered, his gaze fixed on the green stain stuck to his chest. Blaine didn't say anything, he just stood there unsure what to do.

The boy turned to look at him irritated. “Listen, you should really go now. I'm saying this for your own good. Go away. You already have a good anecdote to tell, you can let everyone know that you found me sniveling on the toilets' floor. With a story like that they could even let you in the football team.”

He started to take his t-shirt off. Blaine instinctively turned away. Maybe another teacher wouldn't have done it, but he did not want to be involved in any rumors. Sooner or later his students would find out that he was gay but combine that information with the fact that he almost saw his student semi-naked, it didn't promise anything good.

He took one of the nearby towels and dampened it with some warm water. He handed it to the boy, still not turning back around.

“I'm going to inform Figgins about this. Nothing like this should ever happen.” The boy's bitter laugh at that took him by surprise.

“Yeah, sure... As if I hadn't tried for years to make that idiot understand that my life here is hell. Good luck, really.” He heard him rummage in his bag and the soft sound of fabric suggested him that he was getting dressed again. “By the way, you can turn around. Even if you look at me, you won't catch it, you know?”

Blaine turned around. If he didn't want to indulge himself before, now he let himself take a swift peek. The boy was tall and toned with a hint of muscle. His hair had been obviously styled before getting ruined by the mix of ice and syrup, his skin was fair with a light pink hue.

“Catch what?” Blaine asked, as he watched the boy put on a dark green cardigan.

“The  _gay_. Don't pretend that you don't know it.” he replied, a bit insecure. He found himself wavering now; maybe that cute boy really hadn't noticed or he was just too kind to say anything. Maybe he wasn't another one of those people who pushed him away as soon as they knew... well, as soon as they knew his tastes. His thoughts were interrupted by Blaine's laugh, that sent him right back into his 'defensive mode'. But what shocked him were his next words.

“Well, I think you're too late for that.” he said this with such an expression on his face to dissolve all of Kurt's doubts. Unknowingly, he had given him hope – maybe he wasn't as alone as he thought,  _maybe_  he had found someone. “We should go now. It might be useless but I'd like to go to Figgins to let him know about this anyway.”

He motioned for the boy to follow him out of the toilets' door and to Figgins' office, but Kurt just shook his head.

“It’s better if I don’t. Maybe if I keep my mouth shut they won't get too mad,” he considered, slowly walking up to Blaine.

“But-” tried Blaine.

“Believe me, it's better this way. Anyway... thank you,” suddenly very red in the face, Kurt leaned out and, before Blaine could stop him or say anything, he kissed him softly on the cheek. The younger boy then took a step back and left the room, not leaving Blaine the time to clarify their situation.

***

_Stupid stupid stupid_... he repeated to himself as he was running from the toilets to Biology class. How could he be so blatant? He let someone see him in disastrous conditions, he had treated him incredibly badly; trying to chase him away when the other boy only wanted to help him and then, out of the blue, he decided to kiss him on his cheek, like a junior high schoolgirl.

If that guy hadn't already decided to avoid him, he would probably change his mind now. And he had every reason in the world to do it.

Kurt got to class late, he sat down next to Finn and dropped his books on his desk.

“You're in trouble. The new Lit teacher got so pissed when you skipped class earlier,” Finn whispered to him, while the teacher handed out some papers.

“Tomorrow I'll ask dad to write me a note about how I missed the bus or something,” he replied, his heart still racing.

“You can’t,” Finn mumbled, looking guilty.

“And why is that?” he questioned distractedly.

“Because I told him we went to school together. And he gave you a demerit. That Anderson guy is a pain in the ass.”

“WHAT?” shrieked Kurt, “Damn it Finn, you're a disaster. Today couldn't be any worse.”

He rested his chin on the palm of his hand and tucked the other in his pocket, ready to listen to the teacher and get terribly bored, but something in his pocket caught his attention. He pulled out his hand, bringing with it a rather small blue handkerchief, still damp because of his tears. He had forgotten to give it back to that boy. As he passed it through his fingers, he saw that on one corner of the handkerchief two initials had been embroidered with dark blue thread. He stared at the two letters as he caressed them with his fingertips, feeling once again like a complete idiot.

**_B. A._ **

“What's that?” asked Finn.

“Nothing.”

He put it back in his pocket.


	2. Chapter 2

 

As that boy ran out of the toilets, closing the door behind himself, Blaine's first instinct was to run after him **-** to tell him that... that he had just kissed a teacher. That it was wrong and that he should’ve at least introduced himself - that you can’t just _kiss_ someone and then leave.Blaine hoped that maybe the boy wasn’t even his student. But there were boundaries he had to respect in any case; rules to follow. Blaine clearly remembered the story of thatMath teacher who was arrested in Philadelphia…

In truth, Blaine's first instinct wasn't actually to follow that boy out of the toilets - it was to run to the nearest bathroom and release himself of about half a litre of pee. Being left alone in the room had suddenly reminded him why he was even there in the first place. With a clear mind and an empty bladder, he finally started to think again; his cheek, though, still felt like he had just been kissed by burning fire and not byan overly straightforward teenage boy.

What had he just got himself into?

Blaine started pacing back and forth, anxiously tapping his fingertips on the sinks as he passed - trying to find a solution because as a teacher, he simply couldn't let this go unnoticed.

First of all, he could go to Figgins and tell him about what the bullies had done to that boy, but from the teen's reaction when he had suggested it, it would probably be useless, if not dangerous. Blaine knew very well how mean teenagers could be and that poor kid seemed to know it just as well. The bullies wouldn't care that it was a teacher who reported the fact - they would turn the boy's life into a living hell. Or maybe they already did. Admittedly, he didn't look too happy, curled on the floor and drenched in freezing slushie.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, saying nothing was probably the only way to avoid creating further problems. Blaine decided to investigate the situation - putting all of his effort into finding a way of helping the boy, seeing as apparently no one had done that for him so far.

“Okay. I'm not telling anyone. Now what do I do?” Blaine wondered, stopping for a moment, then going back to pacing nervously. He felt that something just _had_ to be done. Or said. But, for starters, he had no idea who that student was, neither did he feel like looking for him in every classroom of the building. And even if he did find him, what would he tell him?

He would have to explain what an awkward misunderstanding their brief encounter turned out to be: “ _I'm sorry to inform you that your behavior towards a teacher was profoundly inappropriate,”_ he smacked his forehead just at the thought of a conversation like that. He let out a tiny whimper: why, among all the teachers in that school, did it have to be him who found that boy? Why did he let it slipthat there were actually _two_ gay guys in that room? Why didn't he take up on that job offer to teach PE in New Mexico, instead of going to Lima?

Coffee.

Blaine needed scalding coffee and, with some luck **,** he would find the teachers' loungethat Figgins showed him the week before. He headed to the door but stopped short before he reached it. The nameless boy had forgotten his t-shirt and it was now lying crumpled up in one of the sinks. Without thinking twice about it, Blaine took it – it was still damp from the water and syrup - and a delicate scent of vanilla, combined with the sharper one of mint engulfed him.

Unsure what he should do, Blaine's eye fell on the t-shirt's brand – Marc Jacobs – and that's what convinced him to take the piece of clothing with him. If he left it there, someone could throw it away or steal it. Or worse, that boy might accuse Blaine of having stolen it, maybe even telling everyone that he had seen the teen shirtless and Blaine had no established academic career in his past that he could hide behind. His mind was already conjuring images of Lima citizens, armed with torches and pitchforks, surrounding his apartment...

He shook his head, surprised by his own imagination and how far it could goif he didn't keep it in check. Blaine returned his gaze to the t-shirt; tomorrow he would bring it back to school, washed and ironed. He didn't really know who to give the garment to, since he still didn't know the kid's name, but he trusted he would come up with a solution. Surely **,** the boy would appreciate that small attention, after all it was the least he could do to help him at the moment.

He left the toilets with the t-shirt in his fist and brought it to his classroom, where he carefully folded it so that the dry parts were on the outside, and put it in his bag. Sitting at his desk, he covered his face with his hands and leaned back in his chair.

Before he even realized, Blaine's mind started spinning; images ofsmooth pale skin, bright blue eyes and brown hairflittering through his head.He thought of the boy's initially hurt look, that suddenly turned so hopeful and then, just as unexpectedly, embarrassed. For the second time within the last minutes, Blaine shook his head to chase away thoughts he definitely shouldn't be having.

Coffee.

Now he _really_ needed coffee. He stood up and walked towards the secretary office, where he remembered seeing the teacher’s room. As he wandered in the hallways **,** he met two large boys, who were shoving around a much smaller kid.

“Give us the money. Come on, we're not asking twice!” The poor boy was rummaging nervously in his bag, but the more they pushed him, the harder it was for him to grasp anything. Blaine quickened his pace and in a few steps **,** he reached the commotion.

“What the hell are you doing?” he exclaimed with his most professional and authoritative tone. The two turned around, and while one seemed completely unfazed by his presence, the other looked a bit confused. It was clear as day that he was wondering who that guy was - coming and stopping them with so much confidence. As they turned their backs to him once again to continue tormenting the smaller boy, obviously deciding that Blaine wasn't worth their time, he decidedthat he had to change his approach.

“Okay then, let's go to the principal.”

Before they could add anything, Blaine grabbed them both by the front of their letterman jackets and headed towards the principal's office. The two bullies only tried to struggle with him for the first few seconds until they realized Blaine wasn’t going to back down as he successfully hid his fear of possibly being their new victim (especially seeing as they were much bigger than him).

When they reached Figgins' office, both ofthe students were silent – not really because they were scared of what was to come, but mostly because they were too shocked to talk. In all these years, none of the teachers had ever cared much about what happened in the hallways, and in the worst of cases there had only been a playful remark. On the other hand, they all were very careful to check themselves when there were any teachers nearby. But who could imagine that that dwarf wasa teacher? And that he even had the balls to intervene?

“Principal Figgins?” Blaine asked, stepping in the office and gently pushing the two reluctant boys to urge them in. The other kid, thevictim of the bullies, sat outside with the secretary, clutching his bag to his chest.

“Good morning, Mr. Anderson!” smiled the principal. “I see that you got acquainted with some of our best football players, I didn't know you were involved in the management of the team.”

Mr. Figgins greeted the two boys just as cheerfully, who straightened their backs and smiled mockingly at Blaine. It was obvious that even the small amount of fear that could be seen in their eyes the moment before hadvanished now, replaced by serene self-confidence.

“No, I'm not involved in the management of the team. I just found these students in the hallway, during class, pushing around another kid and forcing him to let them take his money.”

Then the incredible happened. Figgins laughed, followed by the two bullies. Blaine watched them in shock.

“Anderson, I can't believe you let yourself be fooled! These big guys love to joke around, they would never steal money from anyone, neither would they ever lay their hands on them. Isn't that true, boys?”

The principal got up from his chair and gave two tiny punches on the football players' shoulders, faking a small boxing match. Useless to say that Blaine watched the whole exchange speechlessly.

“I'm telling you that I saw them with my eyes as they were shoving that boy. And I also heard clearly the threats they aimed at him to force his money out of his hands. This is only the first day of school, if we're not doing anything now, what will they end up doing on the last day? I'm sorry, but I'm not used to turning a blind eye to this kind of acts and I expect these students to be punished.”

He spoke with such determination that Mr. Figgins stopped playing around with the boys and looked at him, a bit uncertain.

“But it's only the first day of school...” he tried, shrugging as ifto justify his reply.

“Exactly. It's _only_ the first day. It's the second hour of the first school day and these kids have already skipped class and threatened, physically and verbally, a fellow student. If you're not going to deal with this personally, I'm available for a few hours of detention today. Just as I'm willing to meet their parents,” pressed Blaine, crossing his arms over his chest. He had no intention of backing down, that had to be clear.

Mr. Figgins sighed and sat down at his desk.

“Okay, then... Boys, today you'll have two hours of detention as soon as class is over. You'll go to Mr. Anderson's classroom, and he'll decide what you’ll do. Are you happy now?” he asked Blaine, visibly annoyed by the situation.

“You're not doing _me_ a favor,” Blaine answered pointedly, then he addressed the boys. “I'll see you at 3pm. Bring rubber gloves, you can ask the janitor for them.”

He ignored the boys'complaints and led them out of the office. As soon as they were gone, moaning about the their 'unfair' punishment, Blaine returned to the poorvictim of the bullies, who was still sitting just outside of Figgins' office.

“Thanks,” he uttered with a hint of a smile.

“What class should you be in now?”

“Biology.”

“Good, I'll walk you to your classroom so I can explain to your teacher why you're late.”

The boy fixed the strap of his bag over his shoulder and followed Blaine. Obviously, Blaine couldn't remember where the hell the Biology laboratory was. How he managed to avoid getting lost during his three years at Dalton, where the buildings were about ten times larger than this hellish place, is a mystery to him.

 

***

 

Kurt was listening distractedly to his biology teacher when someone knocked at the classroom's door. To his surprise, Dean - thenerd who always seemed to have a cold - stepped in followed closely by the boy he met in the toilets about half an hour before. They did have class together then.

“You're late,” Mrs. Jones told Dean, who sniffed noisily and ran to his desk, sharing a silent look with the boy behind him. Kurt watched that brief exchange, wondering why the other boy was so late to class and, especially, why Ms. Jones wasn't pointing it out, as she did with Dean.

“This is a note signed by me and the principal.” The boy handed out a sheet to Mrs. Jones, who read through it quickly and let out an exasperated sigh then he added, “Dean was with me.”

A possible explanation to the scene in front of him started to make its way into Kurt's head, who stubbornly refused to let it come to the surface of his mind. There was only a very limited group of people who could sign Dean’s late pass: parents and teachers. He obviously wasn't Dean's father, who, Kurt knew, was a fifty year old man that only wore faded denim shirts, so this meant that...

“Oh God.”

Horrified, Kurt slid down against his back of his chair, hiding behind Puck and his girlfriend Lauren. Fortunately, Finn saved him a seat in the last row of desks, so it wasn't too hard to disappear from view.

“Don't forget about tonight's meeting. All the teachers will be there,” said Mrs. Jones as she shoved the sheet into her register and shook her hand in the air, as if to shoo the boy – _the teacher –_ away, so that he left the room.

Kurt's face was burning up; he had emotionally restrained himself for years, he had never touched anyone who wasn't family or a close friend, and the only kind, cute boy that made him act impulsively turned out to be a teacher. What was wrong with him?

Was it because, at the lastsale, he'd snatched that Gucci belt out of that hag's hands? Perhaps she had put a curse on him. Or maybe he had run over someone's cat with his SUV.

“Dude, you okay?” Finn asked him, looking sleepy and completely oblivious to his step-brother's worries.

“What? I... Yes, I'm okay! It's a bit hot in here, isn't it?” he replied, fanning his face with his hand. Everything would be fine; surely **,** he didn't have any classes with that teacher. They would limit themselves to a few awkward looks from afar, if they ever happened to run into each other in the hallways. Then they would just forget about their incident.

Or Kurt would just bury himself alive.

Or have a face transplant done.

… He would find a solution.

“Did you see? Hemanaged to let Dean arrive late without any trouble but gave you a demerit instead. What an asshole.” Finn shook his head, going back to his most comfortable sleeping position on his desk. Kurt was petrified, and with his eyes wide, he turned to look at Finn.

“Who?” he asked, afraid to know the answer.

Not the new Lit teacher. Not the new Lit teacher. Not the new Lit teacher. Not the new Lit teacher. _Please_ , not the new Lit teacher.

“Well, Anderson, of course? The new Lit teacher, with that weird name. Blaine... or something like that,” replied Finn, killing all of Kurt's doubts.

Good. Just _wonderful_.

Now those two letters on the handkerchief had a meaning. He was still holding the object in his hand; he slowly opened his fingers and smoothed out the part of cloth with the two letters finely embroidered.

**B** laine **A** nderson.

To give it back to him would certainly be embarrassing; even more now that it was all creased and sweaty. He decided that he would wash and iron it that same afternoon, that way he wouldn't add 'poor self-care' to his already bad first impression. He opened his Biology book, trying not to think of how thoughtful Blaine had been as he dampened the towel with warm waterbefore handing it to him, or how soft his cheek felt against Kurt's lips. Or how fast Kurt's racing heart had beaten as he ran out of those toilets.

Because Kurt had already had crushes on cute boys before, he fell in love like a madman willingly falls down a well. He insisted, when he knew that Finn was straight and he did the same thing with Sam.He swore not to let himself indulge in unrealistic thoughts of love, at least not until he'd leave this hell hole that was Lima; but as he saw that boy, that beautiful, kind and, well... _gay_ boy, he'd fallen right back into it. He even kissed him, for God's sake! That's because all Kurt wanted, deep down, was to be loved, held, cuddled and comforted. He wanted someone to whom he could talk freely, someone who knew all of his secrets and who accepted him as he was. Hell, he was only eighteen, he surely couldn't blame himself if he had thrown all that pent up desire on the first person who showed some care towards him.

Kurt scribbled distractedly on his notebook until that class was over, with Finn sleeping peacefully next to him, while he put back all of his hopes, one by one, in his mental drawer of projects for the future. He had time, and sooner or later he would find _the one_.

 

***

 

During break, Blaine mustered the courage to enter the teachers' room. Inexplicably, as he stepped in, there was a short moment of silence, followed by a low murmur. As he walked from the door to the coffee machine in a path that now seemed to last forever, he could catch some sentences.

“Standing up against Figgins...”

“... We're not at Dalton.”

“The team spirit...”

“... Who does he even think he is?”

Blaine breathed deeply as he took a sugar sachet and sat at one of the few free tables. His eyes were cast low and fixed on his coffee cup, as he slowly stirred the sugar in the hot liquid. He was beginning to wonder if that punishment had really been the best thing to do, when a burly woman wearing gym shorts stepped into the room.

“Who's Blaine Anderson?” she boomed, looking very imposing with her fists on her hips. Everyone in the room turned abruptly to stare at Blaine, who was timidly raising his hand to answer the call. In a couple steps, the woman reached his table. She grabbed two donuts and a chair, then she straddled it.

“I was looking for you.” The room was dead silent, everyone was ready to enjoy the show where the new football coach tore apart the naïve teacher who dared give detention to two of her players. Blaine watched worriedly as she took a huge bite from a donut, eating half of it, before pointing her index finger at him.

“I'm coach Beiste. I'm new, too and may I be damned if this is not true, but I'm glad someone's gonna help me put those animals in line.” She dropped the donuts and stretched her hand out, still dirty with icing. Surprised, Blaine placed his spoon on the table and shook hands with her, saying nothing.

“Those are disrespectful beasts. Yesterday I held the auditions for the team and it was the hardest thing I'd even done in my life. They wouldn't listen to me or do what I told them to do. And I've been coaching for fifteen years non-stop. My game strategyis simple: play well and play fair. If someone doesn't respect the other players, the coach or the patterns of play, it usually means that they have no respect for people out of the field, too. So I respect _you_ , Blaine. I finally found someone who thinks like me.”

He smiled quietly and sipped his coffee, then they started chatting about this and that, until Emma Pillsbury reached their table.

“Er... I'm sorry to interrupt you. It’sBlaine, right? I wanted to ask you if you'd like to come with me after break, I have an idea for today's detention.”

Blaine nodded in assent and smiled at her as she reached for a chair to sit. Emma sat with them for the remainder of their break **,** sipping some herbal tea from her thermos and looking mildly scared as coach Beiste told them about that time a chicken bone got stuck in her throat. The bell finally signaled that class was about to start again so coach Beiste shook hard both of her new friends' shoulders, as a way of saying goodbye, and left in direction of the gym, leaving Blaine and Emma alone.

“What did you plan to do during those two hours of detention?” asked Emma, placing her thermos on the table and her hands on her lap. “I heard that the kids asked for rubber gloves to one of the janitors, so I guessed that giving them something to study wasn't your plan.”

Blaine shrugged. “There's always some part of the school that's disgustingly dirty. I thought I could make them clean up something really filthy; that's usually a good deterrent.”

She shivered at the very idea.

“Then I had guessed right. Come with me, I have a suggestion for a place to let them clean.”

She stood up and motioned for him to follow her out of the room. They didn't have to go too far, Emma stopped in front of one of the main toilets, down the hallway where great part of the classrooms overlooked.

“These are the boys' toilets,” she explained, opening the door. “I wanted to wait for break to end, to be sure that no one would be here. Look, it's been like that for at least two years.”

At first, Blaine didn't understand where exactly he had to look. They seemed to beregular toilets, well as regular as the boys' toilets in a public high school could be – a soap dispenser was broken, the bins were overflowing with paper towels, there were water puddles all over the floor under the sinks and the walls were full of writing.

“I don't understand, do you want me to make them clean the toilets?”

“Not exactly,” she replied, taking a few steps towards the tiles covering the wall next to the sinks. “I'd like you to make them rub these out. And the ones covering the cubicles' walls, too. I have already wiped them off myself at least a few times, but within two days they had already written onall of them again, some even worse than before. We don't know who is to blame for them, but we do have suspects. Perhaps if we make them clean up and tell them that they'll have to do the same thing every time the writings reappear... Perhaps they'll stop.”

But Blaine wasn't listening anymore by now.

Because he had started reading those writings that at first he hadn't even noticed: with the exception of few, all of them referred to the same person. He paced slowly in front of the writing, while reading some of them – _Kurt Hummel cocksucker, Kurt is a fairy, Hummel fag_... and so on. Some came with small drawings that all looked quite explicit and vulgar, it was clear to whom they were referring.

“But... How...” It didn't take very long for Blaine to make the connection between the Kurt Hummel who didn't show up to his class earlier that morning and the boy he met in those toilets in the least frequented part of school. It was clear that he couldn't use the ones where Blaine and Emma were at the moment.

Blaine was shocked by the cruelty and cowardice that those writings represented. He turned towards Emma, who was watching him quietly.

“It all began two years ago, when Kurt was on his second year. No one knew that he was gay, but he had such an obvious crush on Finn Hudson that his coming out wasn't really necessary.” Blaine recognized that name and immediately stopped her.

“His step-brother?” he asked bewildered.

“At that time they were only classmates, their parents only got married a couple months ago. Since people at school found out about Kurt being gay, he became the bullies' favorite target. Any excuse is valid for them to carve insults on his car, pour slushies on him or add some new phrases to these walls,” she replied forlornly.

“But the principal-”

“Kurt explained his situation to the principal more than once, but there are no witnesses, everyone denies and things are always solved and filed as 'boyish pranks'. I thought we could at least help him by giving him the chance to use the school toilets without having to read these obscenities every day. What do you say?” she smiled sadly, a bit unsure.

“You had a great idea, Emma. I'll get all the necessary itemsto clean this up, I'll probably need some kind of solvent.”

“You can find everything you need in my office, I'll show you the way.”

As they left the room, Blaine tried not to let her see just how affected he was by what he had read on those walls.

Or how they had reminded him of the writinghe used to find on his locker years ago.

Or how the teachers and principal's attitude was similar to his old school, before he transferred to Dalton.

Or how he feared that the same scars he wore himself could damage another boy's skin.

That boy's, in particular.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big, huge thank you to Laura because she honestly helped me a lot with this chapter.  
> I'm going to try and update once a week (on Wednesdays) but that might change seeing as school/uni start again soon. I'll do my best to have the chapter ready to be uploaded every week, though.


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